


it is not in the stars to hold our destiny (but in ourselves)

by annusmiribalis



Category: Hamilton - Historical RPF, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Fluff, Historical Alexander Hamilton, Historical John Laurens, Historical Lams, M/M, Oneshot, Pandora's Box, alex not everyone is gay, drunk(?) babies, their real looks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 05:03:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10690281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annusmiribalis/pseuds/annusmiribalis
Summary: "N-no, listen, John," Alexander spluttered in between giggles, loosely pointing at John in an accusative way."Captain America was gay,""Alexander," John said, struggling himself to keep a straight face, "you can't project your sexuality onto fictional characters. Not everyone is gay."





	it is not in the stars to hold our destiny (but in ourselves)

If John Laurens had it his way, he would never have met Alexander Hamilton.

Alexander sat less than a meter away from him, red hair tugged down from his ponytail from endless frustrated groans and annoyance that always led to him pulling on it. John knew this. John knew this and a million other things about the man that he wished he didn't, wished he could wake up one morning and forget because that was easier, so much easier, than having to know and survive.

He sighed. Tapped Alexander on the shoulder.

"Huh?" The man looked back at him, rubbing his eyes - shot with blood that clearly betrayed his sleeping habits - and straightening from having hunched over at his laptop for hours.

"McDonalds?"

It was a statement, not really a question, but John preferred asking. Easier than having to pretend this wasn't a daily occurrence, John staying up with Alexander til the crack of dawn, watching him work. Getting McDonalds at 4am, when Alexander began to get hungry. 

It was unspoken, but it never stopped them. Never stopped _tradition, mon ami,_ as Lafayette would say with a smirk curling the corners of his lips. John shivered at the thought, even in the heat of summer that penetrated through the open window. He didn't want tradition with Alexander Hamilton. He didn't want to _know_ him. That just prolonged the suffering. The suffering of knowing. The suffering of knowing, and yet still having to go through their daily schedule as if nothing was wrong, as if his heart wasn't slowly killing him with every glance Alexander threw his way. 

"I'm just tired," he would say, when it got too much. But he would always be there. And he would always ask. John hated him for it. 

Sometimes, he supposed, it was okay. Okay that he knew. 

Like now, when he got up and threw Alexander his coat, even though he knew the man didn't wear coats in the summer, much less at _night, Laurens, do you love yourself?_

Alexander sighed, and uttered the reply he knew was coming. 

"Love yourself, John." It was muttered, but John knew it was there. He smiled to himself, but quickly it turned into a grimace as he felt his heart tighten at the amused, fond smile Alexander was giving him. 

"Come on," he murmured, opening the door and following Alexander out into the warm dawn air.

 

"The usual?" John asked Alexander as he adjusted the beanie on his light hair. One of John's unspoken rules: beanies work in every season. 

"The usual," the man confirmed, searching for John's hand in the waxing light and finding it, John's hand instinctively wrapping around Alexander's as if it was a regular occurrence. It was. 

The neon yellow light of McDonalds shone in front of them, a safe haven from the thoughts that were beginning to bubble up to the surface of John's traitorous brain. 

"Come on!" Alexander began running, pulling on his hand, and he had no choice but to follow. He heard the other man's ecstatic giggle in front of him, and he could do nothing but smile, running faster to catch up. 

 

Alexander spotted the sign before he did. 

"John!" he whisper-yelled, pointing up like he was an excited puppy. That's how John saw him. 

"You're paying," he said automatically, not actually registering the words on the sign. Alexander sighed and tugged on his hand—John realised with a jolt that they had never let go—and he finally sighed and looked up. 

He stilled. 

_'Alcohol sold between 12am - 5am. May ask for proof of ID. Free of charge.'_

_Free of charge._ He knew he had no choice in this. Alexander was going to take the offer. When had he ever refused free alcohol? 

"You're having some too," Alexander whispered, noticing the realisation dawning on John's face  as he glanced at the sign and back at Alexander. 

"No."

"Please?" Puppy dog eyes. John wanted to scream. Did he _know_? 

"Fine."

Alexander beamed, a real grin that spread across his face, and John stared at his shoes. He couldn't bear it. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and he had the extremely tempting urge to reach into his chest and take it out. Let the man stamp over it. He resolved that it would probably hurt less than what he was doing to him right now. 

An exaggeration? Probably. But John Laurens, for all his strengths, had one hamartia. His fatal flaw. And that flaw came in the form of a loud, passionate, ginger haired man named Alexander Hamilton. 

 

An hour or so later and they were positively drunk. Alexander had always been a bit of a lightweight, and John hardly ever drunk, so to apply that word to him would be an understatement. 

"N-no, listen, John," Alexander spluttered in between giggles, loosely pointing at John in an accusative way. 

"Captain America was _gay_ ,"

"Alexander," John said, struggling himself to keep a straight face, "you can't project your sexuality onto fictional characters. Not everyone is gay." _Unfortunately, those people were not present._

 _"_ There's _evidence."_ Alexander spread his arms out, as if presenting a dish he had worked on to judges. He was still grinning, tipsy from the alcohol and, John knew, the high of debate. 

He raised his eyebrows expectantly. Alexander took that as a token to continue. 

"Bucky," he simply said, and burst out into laughter, head in his arms. 

John shook his head and smiled. He was drunk, but not drunk enough that his mind was completely muddled. It still worked. Sort of. 

It worked well enough for him to be hyper aware of everything Alexander, from his face to his laugh to his eyes to his hair, tumbling down in fiery locks that he couldn't be bothered to tame before they'd left the apartment. 

He shook the thoughts away, buried them in a mental box that he refused to open until sober. He would be able to deal with them better then. Pandora's box. The thought made John snicker. John's box. Alexander's box. Their box. 

The box continued to fill. 

"Come on, Alexander," John got up, holding out his hand for the still-giggling man. He took it quickly, and John pulled him out of the door into the fast growing light. It sobered him somewhat, made the feeling of their hands together almost bearable.

They walked unsteadily, hands grasping each other's for a few minutes in comfortable silence. John knew every curve and slope of the man's hands. He closed his eyes, committing them to memory as he had done a thousand times before. 

Alexander stopped. 

They were under a streetlight, the fading orange glow highlighting his facial features. The light framed his face. John stared at his freckles, standing out red in little dots under the man's eyes, on the pale skin of his nose, cheeks. 

John realised the only thing he didn't know about Alexander was the number of freckles he had. He wondered if he wanted to. 

"John."

The almost choked voice of his friend brought John back to the present, automatically averting his eyes from the man's face and to the ground. 

"John," he repeated, using his free hand to tilt his chin up. 

John was confused, to say the least. 

Reluctantly, he looked up, and the strangled tenderness and love he found in the man's eyes, the genuine _feelings_ that he knew were overwhelming him, promptly became too much for Alexander to bear. 

He took a step forward, hand still on John's chin.

"A-Alexander?" Now it was his turn to sound choked. 

He knew he was drunk. He knew Alexander would forget this in the morning. 

He hoped. 

Alexander closed the gap between them with a small whining sound, and John realised, as he counted exactly 32 freckles lying across his face, there really was nothing he did not know about him. 

Instead of making his heart lurch, it made him pull the other man closer. 

He would forget this tomorrow. 

He hoped he was wrong.

The box was opened.

**Author's Note:**

> @thxtommy  
> i hope u enjoyed this lil oneshot :) comments/kudos are appreciated <3


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